


Early Morning Shift

by Chromi



Series: Arrhythmia [4]
Category: One Piece
Genre: (Almost), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Prompt Fill, Silly, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: Stupid Shanks and his stupid shitty smile. Curse his affable personality.Pre-Arrhythmia.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco
Series: Arrhythmia [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527563
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Early Morning Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Re-upload because I'm stupid. I can't remember what I originally wrote here.

He still wasn’t used to this. Not really. Not entirely. Having never exactly been one to, well, _stay put_ in any one place since finishing med school, Marco really wasn’t accustomed to any form of mid-to-long term dating as an adult in the adult world, away from protected life as a university student.

As a consequence, sleep was something of a difficulty for him when he had Shanks wrapped around him, face tucked into his chest or the crook of his neck, breathing slow and peaceful. It was just _weird_ to be that close to someone – hell, to have someone even in the same room, never mind in the same bed. On the occasions in the past that had demanded he and Thatch room together, Marco had always made sure to fall asleep long before Thatch had decided to turn in for the night, effectively avoiding having to lie awake all night listening to his snuffled breathing and random piggy snorts.

But he was slowly getting used to sharing with someone properly. Little by little, visit after visit, Marco was beginning to relax into the routine of sleeping in Shanks’ bed with the blood-red sheets, or having Shanks stay over at his tiny rented apartment whenever time allowed. It was no secret that dating a doctor meant time together was often fleeting and precious – but then again, the very same applied to dating a paramedic who didn’t seem to know what the word “no” meant when asked to cover late night and early morning shifts at late notice.

Stupid Shanks and his stupid shitty smile. Curse his affable personality.

One such inability to turn down a 6 AM start – why this was allowed to be rota'd at all, Marco had no idea – saw the pair of them in Shanks' kitchen entirely too early, Shanks chatty and Marco barely lucid, given that it was a rare day off of his (the hospital liked to keep their junior doctors ever hopeful that one day, they might see themselves getting _two_ whole days off back to back some time – but Marco wasn’t holding his breath. Luxuries like those were for the senior physicians and no one else, clearly.)

“This is shit luck,” Marco sighed into his coffee, only half watching how Shanks managed to miss his mouth entirely with his toast as he scrolled through his unread texts. “My first day off where no one’s bleeped me to come cover something, and you’re on shift. Can’t believe you agreed to pick up another shift…” He thought for a moment, blowing at the steam rising off his drink. “Can’t believe they wouldn’t let you swap when it finally clicked that we were supposed to have today together. What reason did you give for wanting to change?”

“Right?” Shanks said through his toast, raising his eyebrows at Marco and wearing the same expression a kicked puppy might. “I asked the coordinator _so_ nicely if she’d swap me with Benn, that I’d do anything she wanted if she’d just let me have the day off to snuggle with you, and d’you know what she said?”

“That that was a bad excuse for changing a shift at such short notice?” Marco frowned, only too familiar with how neither of them could expect to change shifts for anything but exceptional circumstances, like a death in the family or a terrible, sudden illness like a hefty bout of explosive D&V – and even then that was a push.

“Yup!” Shanks exclaimed, missing how Marco rolled his eyes as he went for his next piece of toast.

“You should’ve lied,” Marco pointed out, “got creative, said your ailing grandmother was dying or something. Getting handsy with your boyfriend for a day isn’t going to pull at their heartstrings.”

“The grandmother who died last year?” Shanks snorted at Marco’s expression of vague recollection that they had already used that lie before – said grandmother had passed away almost 30 years ago, in fact. “Exactly. So, the coordinator was like ‘um bitch, if I have to be here tomorrow then so do you’, and _wow_ Marco she was _pissed_ when I pointed out that she’s single so she may as well just work—”

“—Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t move you if _that’s_ your attempt at sweet-talking—”

“—and _then_ she was like _‘oh, so, who’re you dating anyway?’_ – I _know_ , I have no idea how she’s never heard me talking about you before – so I said _‘oh, y’know, a registrar here’_ and _she_ goes _‘ooh Shanks is it Piper Jennings in gastro?’_ and, well, first of all I was _amazed_ that she thought I would date a woman, and _then_ I was all _‘oh fuck no, you think I have no taste? She’s just awful’_ – well, only went and turned out to be her sister, didn’t she—”

“You mean she doesn’t know who her own sister is dating?” Marco laughed, side-stepping Shanks’ absolute lack of tact and how affronted he looked at the mere memory of the conversation.

“Guess not,” Shanks shrugged, that small frown transforming into a full-bodied grin under the sound of Marco’s amusement, “maybe they don’t talk much? Piper doesn’t see her often, from what I can gather.”

Marco paused, considering Shanks for a moment. “How do _you_ know Piper Jennings? She’s nothing to do with you guys – other than being related to your coordinator, I guess.”

“I know who she _is_ dating,” Shanks said smugly, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Yeah? Who?”

Shanks paused for dramatic emphasis before declaring, “Benn.”

Marco laughed again, only this time it was a bark of surprise. “Benn? As in Benn Beckman, your friend?” When Shanks just grinned wide enough to show all of his teeth, Marco pressed on, “so when you say she’s awful, you mean…?”

“I _mean_ ,” Shanks said dramatically, flicking his red hair out of his eyes in that way he knew Marco _really_ liked, “that when I’m on shift with Benn, all he fuckin’ talks about is her! Piper this, Piper that – guess what, Benn, no one cares about your damn reg girlfriend; let me talk about my damn reg _boy_ friend already.”

For what it was worth, Marco sincerely doubted that Benn ever did much in the way of talking when alone with Shanks – from the few times he had met the other paramedic off shift for drinks, Benn gave very little away about himself or his thoughts outside of whatever Shanks directly prompted, far more comfortable in lounging in swirling smoke and listening, thoughtful.

“Good thing you’re not working with him for a while, then,” Marco smirked, holding out a hand for Shanks’ empty plate, “no Piper stories for you today.” He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall behind Shanks, noting with mingled dismay and alarm that they were beginning to cut their remaining time together very fine indeed. “You need to get going,” he warned, nodding to the clock, smiling at how shocked Shanks seemed and how he then had to check his phone to confirm that the clock wasn’t lying.

Five rushed minutes later saw Shanks stuffing his feet into his shoes, toothpaste smeared over his chin where he had wiped at it with the back of his hand, haphazardly dragging a comb through his hair.

“So what’re you gonna do today?” Shanks asked hurriedly, snatching up his keys from the hook beside the front door of his apartment. “Will you still be here when I get back? Please say you will be, give me something to look forward to Marco, please—”

Licking his thumb and bringing it to Shanks’ chin, Marco said, “I’ve got some things I should really do, but yes, I’ll come back here afterwards. Thanks for the spare key, by the way,” he added, getting the last of the toothpaste off with one final rub that had Shanks making a mild sound of protest at the back of his throat, “I’ll get yours cut today.”

“Perfect,” Shanks grinned, lashes dipping as his gaze trailed from Marco’s eyes to his lips. His hands caught Marco by the waist, gently encouraging him to step in closer and press firm into Shanks’ uniform, crisp and ironed. “Although I guess that answers whether you’ve thought any more on moving in with me, though.”

The big question. The biggest one that had come up so far in their relationship. The first big step, the first real sight of commitment, and… honestly, the one that Marco _wanted_ to rush ahead with, careless and full of love. But, as ever, as would always be for the rest of his life, work had to come first whether he liked it or not, relationships be damned. And such was the life of a junior at any level, forever expected to move, to uproot, to leave come August of each year and begin anew at a different hospital; fated were those who were attached to them – partners, spouses, hell, roommates, even – to either move too or, more likely, attempt to maintain a relationship long distance.

So yes, Marco had thought about it. Constantly. And the answer wasn’t going to be what Shanks wanted to hear.

“I want to,” he sighed, stroking long, broad lines up Shanks’ back, calmed by his warmth through his shirt, “you know full well that I want to. But we don’t know where I’ll be posted in August; it could be really far away, too far for you to commute—”

“Then I’ll transfer wherever you go,” Shanks breathed, suddenly losing his chirpy, upbeat tone and dropping into something far more serious; far (and Marco hated himself for thinking this so early in the morning) _sexier_. “It’s no problem, Marco. I just want to live with you and do sickly domestic shit with you.” He bumped his forehead to Marco’s, nuzzling into him when Marco leaned against him. “You’ve applied to all of the surrounding cities’ hospitals as first choices, right? So you’ll probably end up close enough for us to find somewhere halfway anyway.”

“I’ve still got another three or four years of this,” Marco said quietly, “until I qualify, we’d potentially have to keep moving every year.”

“And?”

Marco frowned against Shanks, saw his smile spread up close and personal. “And…”

“You think I didn’t know this when we got together?” Shanks huffed a small laugh through his nose. “I know what’s involved with dating a doctor, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He tilted his chin to kiss Marco softly, eyes fluttering closed in sync with Marco’s.

It made him feel all warm and buttery inside, being reminded yet again of how Shanks would go to just about any length to be with him, to climb every hurdle that his damn job insisted on throwing at them. His job, and Marco himself, he had to remember – for if it hadn’t have been for his incessant dislike of Shanks, of misreading and misunderstanding him for far too many months after their first chance encounter, they might have been able to begin this relationship a whole lot sooner.

But no matter. Devotion carried sweet on Shanks’ lips, in his touches, in his actions. The gentle slide, the push and pull, give and take of the kiss that deepened gradually almost had them both forgetting _why_ they were standing at Shanks’ front door so very early in the morning, Shanks in uniform and Marco in nothing but boxers.

Almost.

“We’ll finish this tonight?” Shanks’ voice spun sensual to Marco’s ear, purring on Marco’s unrefined groan in response.

“If you don’t get murdered by your supervisor for being late,” Marco replied, chancing another chaste kiss before physically turning Shanks on the spot and opening the front door for him. “Now go before I’m tempted to tear your stupid shirt off your stupid body.”

“Ooh, medical roleplay?” Shanks teased, jingling his keys merrily as he stuffed them into one of his many pockets, stepping over the threshold into the cold corridor. “Are you gonna bring your stethoscope to bed again?”

“Bye, Shanks.”

The door closed after one final fleeting kiss, and Marco stifled an enormous yawn on turning back to the little kitchen.

Halfway through clearing up, mind lingering longingly on getting back into Shanks’ bed and catching a few more hours’ sleep, Marco spotted something on the table that really should not have been there.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Shanks,” he muttered to himself, unable to suppress the grin that bloomed. Because there, next to the fruit bowl, sat Shanks’ wallet. It would definitely be missed when Shanks and his co-worker for the day finally managed to grab a few minutes for lunch and fuel, no doubt, pulling into a gas station and then finding himself unable to pay.

Snatching it up, Marco hurried to the front door again. He pulled on the first thing he grabbed off the back of it and only belatedly realised it to be Shanks’ coat, not his, the damn thing just slightly too small and pulling snug across Marco’s chest as he did it up. He looked ridiculous, he knew, flinging open the door and scuttling off down the corridor to the spiralling flight of stairs that finished in the communal area housing the mailboxes. He also knew that he had most likely missed Shanks, and that he was bound to meet someone else innocently trying to leave or return from work despite the early hour, but he had to _try_.

The pounding of rushing feet coming up the stairs had Marco flattening himself against the wall for the other person to pass, having no desire to be treating any collision injuries while not on duty.

To his surprise (and relief) it turned out to be Shanks, looking just as startled to find Marco in nothing but his coat and boxers in the stairwell.

“Dare I ask?” Shanks grinned that fucking shit-eating grin of his, coming to a stop at the step below Marco’s and looking him up and down.

“You forgot something,” Marco said, irritated by how he sounded more breathless than Shanks, rummaging in the coat’s pocket to fish out the little brown wallet.

But before he could extract the wallet, Shanks reached up and grabbed at the collar of the coat, tugging Marco down to bend awkwardly at the waist. “You’re right,” Shanks whispered, standing on his tiptoes to make up for the height difference presented by the steps, “I forgot something important.”

His breath was stolen by the most intense, fierce kiss he could remember, almost overbalancing him. He only floundered for a second or two, taking it in his stride with ease and returning the kiss with vigor. Cupping Shanks’ face, Marco angled to allow for better access, tongue sweeping broad to Shanks’ own with an appreciative, earnest groan.

_This_ was his favorite thing about Shanks. What had once driven him mad, had once annoyed him into actively avoiding the man until finally Marco _understood_ how Shanks’ mind worked, Marco now loved with all his might. This unrestrained, blatant love. This passion. This enormity. How Shanks could wind up his emotion so tight into just a kiss and convey a novel’s worth of feeling into a single touch.

Shanks loved unabashedly, and Marco thrived in it.

Even if that love did decide to present itself in a stairwell at gone 5:30 AM on a Wednesday morning.

Cutting the kiss short – too short, not _nearly_ enough for either of them, because when was it ever? – Marco stopped Shanks by tapping the wallet to his collarbone, gasping for breath.

“I meant this,” he said weakly as Shanks took it, looking at it curiously, “you forgot your wallet, you idiot.”

Shanks _laughed_. Full-bodied, head thrown back, _laughed_.

“ _This_ is why you’re parading around the building in your underwear?” Shanks roared, holding onto the stair rail for support. “Oh, Marco, jeez, you’re so sweet, _look_ at you—”

“You _didn’t_ come back for this?” Marco bristled at once, tugging down the hem of the coat as much as he could, utterly failing to provide himself with even a modicum of dignity under Shanks’ continued laughter.

“No!” Shanks cried, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. “I came back to kiss you, like I said! The thought of you and that stethoscope, y’know, the blue one, it got me all—” he gave a pronounced, dramatic shiver, grinning ear to ear. “I _had_ to give you one last kiss. And now,” he gestured at Marco’s bare legs, looking thoroughly pleased, “I _really_ don’t want to go to work.”

“No stethoscopes,” Marco snapped, feeling his cheeks flush horribly warm under the next wave of Shanks’ snorted laughter, “and I’ll take that back if you don’t need it,” he added, plucking the wallet out of Shanks’ hand.

“Ah, wait!” The laughing stopped immediately, panic lacing the small giggle that slipped out. “No, no, no, I _do_ need that! Marco, give it here!”

Another hard, warm kiss, a wallet pressed back into a palm, and Shanks was gone again, waving on dashing out of sight with the curve of the staircase.

Leaving Marco quite alone to get back into bed, wrap himself up in those sheets that smelled of his boyfriend, and begin looking at apartment listings within a 20 mile radius instead of going back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I base all hospital and hospital staff-related things I write about on how hospitals/grading works in my country so as to minimize errors I make. A registrar is the last level of junior doctor before qualifying as a consultant in a specialty such as cardiology. While treated with substantially more respect than a foundation year doctor, for example, they are still given the short end of the stick when it comes to shift patterns and demands put upon them in comparison to consultants.
> 
> Please fill [my Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) inbox with prompts, nonsense, or anything at all! I love to chat TT
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


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